


Once More, with Feeling

by emrysss



Category: Avenue 5 (TV), Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Avenue 5 is not required viewing, Crossover, Doppelganger, Gen, M/M, Pining, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrysss/pseuds/emrysss
Summary: No one has seen Jared for nearly a decade. And then his doppelganger shows up as an associate producer for the Pied Piper documentary.
Relationships: Bertram Gilfoyle/Monica Hall, Dinesh Chugtai & Bertram Gilfoyle, Jared Dunn/Richard Hendricks, Matt Spencer/Richard Hendricks
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Once More, with Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe HBO comedies bullied me back into writing fanfiction after six years. Matt Spencer is as unhinged as Jared and I've been stewing about it for months.
> 
> Sorry - not beta'd!

“The fucking CEO won’t do it. Everybody else—even the fucking president of Stanford will do it, but the lanky bastard’s changing his mind?!”

Matt Spencer meets Rav Mulcair on a bad day. Rav has many bad days, but today is also Matt’s first day with Avenue 5. It would be poor luck for anyone to have a bad first day. Matt doesn’t really care though. The potential for a bad first day doesn’t even occur to him. It’s just Wednesday.

“Look, look—” Billie McEvoy and Ryan Clark are bracketing a rapidly pacing Rav like a game of human Pong, except neither of them want to touch Rav. Billie’s trying to create distance by emphatically waving a clipboard, reasoning, “look, we don’t shoot until Friday. That gives us tomorrow to negotiate with him.”

“Did _nobody_ make him sign a contract? Just so he doesn’t—oh, I don’t know,” Ryan shrugs, “cripple this whole production?”

Still zigzagging back and forth, from Ryan to Billie to Ryan to Billie, Rav throws her hands in the air. “Well the fucker specifically didn’t want to sign a contract and Herman said it was fine and still greenlit the project!”

Too engrossed in the trio’s frenetic energy, Matt forgets he’s standing about ten feet away until Ryan, the older Englishman, points a finger at him and asks, “who the _fuck_ are you? What’re you looking at?”

It’s enough to give Rav pause.

With a casual wave – and quite literally just the one – Matt introduces himself as the new co-producer of the project. And oh. He’s done more than pause Rav’s meltdown.

“Could you…repeat…that…please?” she asks. Matt feels like it’s a trap. No one speaks. Matt finally opens his mouth with no intention of really saying anything. That is, however, Rav’s cue to snap, “I heard what you said, Thin Crust. But _I_ have been the sole producer and currently, I still _am_ the sole producer.”

The malice seems to roll right off Matt. He just smiles and says, “you _were_. And I have no intention of taking any credit for what I’m sure has been exceptional work on your part for pre-production, but Herman said you didn’t want him around during filming so I’m supposed to lend a hand while acting as his proxy for updates during production.”

The three look incredulously at Matt. Billie squints and suggests, “like a spy?”

Ryan adds on, “You probably weren’t meant to tell us that.”

Matt glances away and thinks. Rav says something incredibly rude, but he’s trying to remember if Herman had mentioned anything suggesting discretion. There _was_ a text from Iris in the morning that read ‘Keep your mouth shut’ but Matt was under the impression that she was just being mean.

Rav points at Matt, snapping, “And why would Judd send someone over without telling us?” But something occurs to Billie. She retrieves her phone.

“Actually,” Billie grimaces, “Iris texted me this morning saying, and I quote, ‘Herman has a very stupid surprise on the way. He says to play nice and there’s no need to thank him.’”

“Well,” Matt claps, “guess it doesn’t matter now, hey? Never hurts to start a work relationship with some transparency!”

Billie apologies to Rav. She tells the other woman, “I just thought Herman was sending us gourmet popcorn for lunch again.”

Mostly to himself, Ryan sighs, “so we’re not even getting lunch.”

But Rav is _glaring_. Matt is smiling as he steps closer. She continues to point a finger at him. “You’re _my_ assistant producer, okay? If you fuck with me, I’ll feel really bad about kicking your ass.” Rav falters, but doubles down, “ _After_ I kick your ass.”

As if surrendering, Matt mimes waving a white flag. He wants to say something reassuring but is interrupted by a _honk! hooooonk!_ The four of them startle and turn to look at an idling car. They’re standing in the parking lot of Newell Road’s Strategic Technologies. But obviously, everyone forgot.

The driver side window rolls down and the top half of a head pops out.

“What the fuck is happening?” asks a muffled voice. Rav steps forward to answer but an arm protrudes from the window, the driver’s wrist loosely swatting at them as he shouts, “actually, I don’t give a shit. Just move out of my fucking parking spot!”

The four obey and disperse. The driver makes a point of rolling the window back up before he pulls forward. There’s a small metal post with a small metal sign that reads ‘RESERVED FOR CEO MR. CHUGTAI’ in small, small letters. Matt notes that this reserved stall is the only spot specifically _for_ someone. The rest just say ‘Reserved.’

Ryan forces a smile and nods at the driver behind the windshield, asking, “who’s this asshole?” through his teeth. Rav brushes the creases from her dress shirt and clears her throat. When the driver emerges from his vehicle, she advances with severely unconvincing pep.

“Mr. Chugtai! I’m Rav Mulcair. We spoke on the phone.”

The man pales. His demeanor deflates immediately. Gripping Rav’s extended hand, he quietly says, “ooooooh, the documentary crew?” His eyes flicker between the four new faces as he continues, “please, call me Dinesh.” He drops Rav’s hand and anxiously looks between their faces again. His eyes stop on Matt. Matt politely smiles, even while Dinesh does a doubletake. He points at Matt (who’s already been pointed at several times today) before tentatively proposing, “Say, have we ever met?”

Matt shakes his head and gives a definitive, “nope!” as an answer because he’s pretty good about faces and names. Dinesh peers at him one more time.

Rav almost manically interjects, “ha ha! White men, y’know?” She turns to gesture between Matt and Ryan. “Can’t tell’em apart, am I right? Ha!” Dinesh uncomfortably clutches the strap of his shoulder bag. Rav moves fast and ushers Dinesh— who feels a pang of hurt when he realises he’s shorter than her—toward the entrance of his company building. Billie, Ryan, and Matt trail behind them.

“You know, with the names Rav and Billie, I thought you two were men.”

Rav continues to lead, reminding him, “we _did_ speak on the phone though,” as Billie snaps, “of fucking course you thought that.” Dinesh is spluttering and nearly tripping over his feet at the pace Rav has set for them.

“Not that—not that that’s a bad thing! I just meant—bah, gross, the _patriarchy_. You know? Fuck the patriarchy! And it’s actually kind of nice to outnumber white people for once. It rarely happens. Just two strong Black women—”

Billie is shaking her head and just repeating, “Nope! Nope, shut up.”

“—and one very shy, intelligent, Pakistani beta male.”

As they step into the modest lobby of the modest commercial building, Dinesh is wringing his hands.

“So…you guys haven’t started documenting, right? Like no one’s recording or writing this down or committing this moment, right now, to memory?”

Rav claps him a little too hard on the back as she assures him that this is merely a courtesy call. “Just here to say hello so, no worries Mr. Chugtai. Er, I mean, _Dinesh_.” She stops to let Dinesh guide them the rest of the way. “Is Mr. Gilfoyle here yet?”

At the mention of the other co-founder, Dinesh visibly relaxes. He giddily tells them, “Actually, he likes it when people call him Bertram.” But Dinesh seems to be a bad liar because nobody really believes him.

During the tour around Newell Road’s four floors, Billie gently bumps Matt with her elbow. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you and what you’re all about.”

Matt quirks his head. He genuinely inquires, “was that a threat? And _what_ am I all about?” Billie has to glare upwards at Matt, but she does so unflinchingly.

“ _Espionage_ ,” Billie hisses. She stalks away to find Ryan—who has managed to attract a small group of employees around a literal watercooler to talk about last night’s episode of a legal procedural drama. Despite working as a producer in California, Matt doesn’t really have an interest in television. It’s why he was excited to join this project.

A pile of photos has accumulated in front of Rav. Dinesh is alight while rattling off a string of names and places without context, always choosing the wrong detail to elaborate on while clumsily summarising half-baked schemes from a decade ago. Dinesh has been speaking for about eight minutes, uninterrupted. And yet, as Matt approaches the two in what must be Dinesh’s (and Gilfoyle’s?) office, he sees a brief flash of annoyance because Rav ungracefully pipes in, “And that. That’s Richard Hendricks?”

Dinesh sighs pitifully and nods.

“Did he tell you he changed his mind about appearing in the documentary?”

“He _what_?”

“This morning. I got an email this morning that said he won’t do the documentary unless everybody’s involved.”

“But isn’t everybody involved?” Dinesh gestures to himself. “Because I am for sure involved.”

“Well, in his email, he specifically mentioned Pied Piper’s COO.”

“Whaaaaaat? I mean, he wasn’t part of the original Pied Piper crew anyways. We don’t really need him for the documentary, do we?”

“We need Mr. Hendricks. And Mr. Hendricks has made it extremely clear that his involvement depends on Mr. Dunn’s involvement.”

Dinesh clenches his eyes shut. Under his breath, he seethes, “Fuckin’ Richard.” Neither Rav nor Matt know what to say. It doesn’t matter however, because Billie and Ryan crowd into the office.

Billie steps aside and says, “Look who we found!”

It’s Mr. Gilfoyle. A stoic man with half his hair pulled into a ponytail and an overwhelming beard. Rav is pushing past Matt to introduce herself but Gilfoyle’s clocked Matt. There’s that flash of familiarity again, just like Dinesh, but this time—

“Jared?”

Rav grumbles as Matt further blocks her way by reaching toward Mr. Gilfoyle with an outstretched hand.

“Um, no. My name’s Matt.” He can see Rav in his periphery as he hastily adds, “associate producer.”

But his handshake is ignored. Instead, Gilfoyle turns on heel as he curtly says, “Dinesh. Follow.”

The two men exit the office and close the door behind them. The Avenue 5 crew just continues to watch curiously because it’s all glass. They’re hurriedly talking.

“Who’s Ponytail calling?” Rav asks.

“That’s Gilfoyle. Not Bertram. Not Mr. Gilfoyle either, apparently,” Ryan sighs. “As for who they’re calling…I’m not sure.”

The phone is loud enough to be heard ringing. Annoyed, the employees closest to the office pull on their headphones. Matt notices the closer the employees are to their boss’ office, the larger the headphones. But Gilfoyle’s phone continues to ring as they continue to stage whisper an argument. Dinesh keeps looking into the office though. Matt feels self-conscious.

Finally, the two appear to have come to a conclusion. They step back into the office just as an automated voice instructs to leave a message.

“Monica. Do not call me back. Just get here as soon as possible. There’s no specific problem yet but…there’s about to be. And we might need your help.” Gilfoyle is about to end the call but he stops and thinks. Matt thinks it’s like watching a man with an abacus for a brain. Gilfoyle mentally calculates _something_ before deciding to put his phone right up to his mouth and, with his regular volume and monotony, repeats, “do not fucking call me back, Mon. I know the NSA is listening and I think they’re a bunch of spineless bureaucrats who would rather perpetuate fascism in their own country to validate their own existences than—"

Dinesh theatrically says, “ha ha ha, Gilfoyle!” He leans his head closer to Gilfoyle’s phone. Both of them are now speaking, but Dinesh seems to have no issue raising his voice.

“Like I said, HA HA HA, Monica! Gilf’s just playing around, y’know, nothing new. We like the NSA _very_ much and all cybersecurity CEOs love, just _love_ the NSA! Also, CEOs don’t like to be murdered, and I really think the NSA should keep that in mind. Not that you work for the NSA.”

 _Beep_. “Inbox. Full.”

The call ends.

“You’re gonna get us fucking killed, Gilfoyle!” Dinesh exhales hard through his nose. “Is that how much you hate yourself? To the point that you would antagonise the NSA until they execute _our_ asses?”

Gilfoyle slips his phone into his back pocket. He turns, just enough to edge Dinesh behind him as he addresses the crew.

“A younger me would have said something racist to Dinesh. But because we are in a professional environment, and because I am now wiser than I once was, I shall not make such a remark.”

“What he’s saying is,” Dinesh mocks (redundantly), “ _to wit_ , he’s an alcoholic who’s been sober for five years.”

Peeking over Gilfoyle’s shoulder, Dinesh is near gleeful. More questions plague the crew. They’ll ask them tomorrow.

“I’m not finished,” says Gilfoyle. “ _However_ , in the spirit of revisiting the shitfest that was Pied Piper, I think it would be in the interest of the documentary to understand what kind of men we were a decade ago.” Gilfoyle pivots to face Dinesh. “ _To wit_ , Dinesh, the NSA probably doesn’t line renegades against a sandstone wall and lay waste to them with automatic rifles. You know, like you’re familiar with back home.”

The crew tenses. Billie is angrily sputtering.

“Are we to—are you fucking serious? Are we here to document _assholes_ , Rav? Racist assholes?”

Rav shakes her head, crossing her arms. “Yeah, we really can’t have any of that for the doc.”

Billie barrels on. “What the fuck even _is_ Pied Piper, you guys? Herman wants this doc because what? Because he got trampled by rats when he was a kid?”

“And also,” Ryan chimes in, “I’m not sure there’s a connection between being a racist _and_ an alcoholic. I would know.” He casually leans back against the wall, but just for a literal second. He springs forward and clarifies, “as an alcoholic! Not a racist. I would know, but only as an alcoholic.”

Dinesh and Gilfoyle are looking at the crew as incredulously as the crew is looking back at them. Matt wants to help.

“BUT,” he stresses, “congratulations on five years of sobriety! I think we can all agree that _that_ is quite an achievement.”

With the five minutes Matt has been in Gilfoyle’s presence, he knows not to expect a smile in return. He does not, however, expect to be gazed at so curiously.

It’s clearly an aside to Dinesh when Gilfoyle mutters, “it’s uncanny,” while looking at Matt. “You really don’t see it?”

“I mean like, kind of?” Dinesh shrugs. “But this guy, Jared, you,” he flippantly gestures at Gilfoyle, “Bighead, Richard. There are just too many white guys in the Valley, you know? Can’t tell them apart!”

Dinesh delivers the callback like a stand-up routine to Rav. She barely registers it and instead, just says, “speaking of Mr. Hendricks…”

“He likes to be called Dick,” Gilfoyle pans. Again, the crew doesn’t really believe the correction. Mostly because Dinesh is snickering.

“Uh, okay. Speaking of _Dick_ , he dropped out of the project this morning. And we need someone to change his mind. Can you think of anyway to convince Richard—”

“ _Dick_.”

“—to change his mind?”

Rav isn’t actually expecting anything useful. She likes to keep her hopes low. For everything.

“Actually,” Gilfoyle starts with a slow grin. It’s uncomfortable to witness. “I think Matthew here should speak with Dick.” Irritated and confused, Rav, Billie, and Ryan turn to look at Matt. He acts unfazed.

“Just Matt, actually. My parents thought Matthew sounded too religious.”

“Then why name you Matt at all?” Dinesh asks.

Matt politely answers, “I don’t know.”

Dinesh is about to ask another snarky question, but Ryan raises a stern open-palmed hand and, as calmly as possibly, bites out, “Gentlemen.”

Matt adds, “And ladies.”

“No, not ladies. The ladies aren’t prattling on like you lot,” Ryan retorts. “If Dinesh and Gilfoyle think Matt can be of use, then who are we to disagree? We don’t know who this Hendricks kid is, but they do. So if taking one asshole to another asshole will guarantee we start shooting tomorrow, then I say we do it.”

Rav is shaking her head. “No, no, no no no. Not until I know why it has to be him.”

“Because,” Gilfoyle slowly explains, “he looks almost identical to Pied Piper’s only orphan and COO, Jared Dunn, who has been MIA for about eight years.”

“Or KIA! I’ve got fifty bucks on Jared being dead, may he rest in peace. But Gilf bet on MIA, Bighead on ‘he never really left’—whatever the fuck _that_ means—and Richard and Monica just suck and won’t participate, so,” Dinesh rolls his eyes. As an afterthought, Dinesh quickly says, “I don’t really see the resemblance though.”

“Almost. Identical,” Gilfoyle punctuates. “And to be completely honest, we really have no clue how Dick will react. It coule be funny or sad. And since Dick being sad _is_ funny…,” he trails off.

At some point, Billie had pulled out her phone. The side of her face is getting sweaty from being pressed against the screen. Iris didn’t pick up, and now Herman isn’t picking up. She’s determined to get the _fuck_ out of this.

Matt’s wringing his hands. He considers that maybe the concept of first days aren’t so arbitrary anymore because this first day is significant. Significantly uncomfortable, that is. He zones out as Rav starts to shout. Something about this being her career, and something about Dinesh and Gilfoyle being imbeciles, and then she starts clicking.

Or…wait. Matt shakes from his trance as the entire group quiets. They’re watching someone _click_ their way over. It’s a woman. A really pretty, if not annoyed, woman who, in red bottomed shoes, is stalking toward them.

Even though she’s still making her way across the bullpen, Gilfoyle skips a greeting entirely and just states, “that was quick.”

“Well, I was already in the state,” she retorts. “And your lackeys told me you’ve all been standing in the office for like, two hours.”

The engineers within earshot perk up. There’s a chorus of, “is she calling us _lackeys_?” and, “we’re right here,” and, “they’ve done ZERO work,” and “fuck you.”

She makes no effort to turn and face the vocal engineers as she snaps, “I fucking hate engineers.” Dinesh gives his employees a thumbs up as she steps into the office. Multiple engineers return a middle finger.

“Start talking and start talking quickly,” she demands.

Meekly, Dinesh says, “hi Monica.”

Matt really has no intention of saying anything, but he pieces the name Monica and Gilfoyle’s earlier phone call together and blurts, “oh Monica! Monica who works for the NSA.”

And there’s that look again, like Monica recognises Matt. Confused, but definitively, she says, “that’s not Jared.”

“Okay,” Dinesh tentatively starts, “does everybody see it? Am I the only one who doesn’t?”

“Has Richard…?” Monica vaguely gestures at Matt.

“Actually, we’re about to have a meet and greet with Richard and Matt,” Gilfoyle answers. “Care to join?”

Monica continues to look at Matt in disbelief. She drops her purse onto the closest surface and begins to rummage. From it, a pack of cigarettes. She pops one in her mouth but continues to dig through the void of her purse.

“Uh, you really can’t smoke in here,” Dinesh says.

Gilfoyle produces a lighter from his pocket and holds it out to her, flicking it to life. “Oh, couldn’t she?” Gilfoyle smugly smiles as Monica accepts the flame. Her cheeks hollow and she puffs.

With a lungful of smoke, Monica says, “this might be cruel.”

Gilfoyle smiles and replies, “that might be the whole point.”


End file.
